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Little TruckeeBy Mike Mead

Having to spend the occasional workweek in
Reno on business, I had long promised myself
to stay over an extra day or two and fish the
Truckee. This river runs right through the
heart of downtown Reno and in current years
has seen somewhat of a revival in it's
usefulness to the city. With an eye to
attracting more than just your stereotypical
Nevada gambler, the city of Reno transformed
its once polluted and unsavory Downtown River
walk into an attractive storefront and kayak
play park. At first impression the sight of
well-to-do neatly dressed shoppers browsing
windows as some guy busts rolls in his play
boat not twenty feet away leaves the outdoorsman
in me with a shudder. But as the play generations
are now fast becoming the lots of disposable income
crowd, city planners are realizing their towns
need more than coffee shops and bookstores to
bring the woodsy outdoors type in from the cold.

Fortunately for me my fishing destination was
well away from the cities charms and into a more
traditional recreation location. Heading west
out of Reno I-80 takes you to the California
state line in around 20 minutes. Another 10-15
up Truckee river canyon and you reach the town
of Truckee itself. It was here that I planned
to do a little up front Q and A with the local
experts, Sierra Anglers Guide (530) 582-5689.
As I drove up the canyon following the path of
the river it was plainly evident that the water
was high with spring runoff, but I hoped the guys
at the store would be able to put me onto the
right fly and a possible fishable location. Their
advice - don't bother! Not what I wanted to hear.
For the next couple of weeks at least the Truckee
would be a hit and miss affair at best with lots
of high strong flow to contend with. "Way to go,"
I muse to myself, "nice plan and prep."

You should fish the Little Truckee; it's fishing
well right now."

Really? The Little Truckee is a small tail water
roughly 3 miles long that flows out of Stampede
reservoir and into Boca Dam reservoir. I had
passed the turnoff a couple of miles back down
the hill. "Should take you around 15 minutes,
just park at one of the Angler parking areas
and head through the woods." I thanked the guys
at the store for their tip and headed out, taking
a quick look at their fly selection on the way
out, more out of guilt than need. As the river
was mountain tail water I felt pretty confident
that my own flies would suffice. So, having
procured valuable information from one local
Truckee business at no cost I decided to get
breakfast at the Wagon Train coffee shop on
Donner Pass road. This turned out to be an
excellent choice as the service was fast; my
order was back to the table in minutes and the
food was plentiful and tasty. Lumberjack - ham
and eggs over easy, a side of country mash
potatoes - mmmhh.

As I tied on my flies at the side of the road
a local California Department of Fish and Game
(DFG) warden pulled alongside to check my
particulars. He was fine with the smashed barb
on my hooks, checking them very carefully. He
informed me that my license should be visible
at all times whilst fishing. My day ticket of
$10.75 value was currently residing inside my
wallet. After checking it out, once again very
carefully, he conceded that the local wardens
are not too concerned with day ticket holders
displaying their license. They are card paper
and the holders to keep them dry can cost a
couple of bucks. So I slipped it back into my
wallet. I ask what a mountain lions tracks
would look like as I had come across what I
thought might be one earlier. From his crude
rendering in the dirt I was none the wiser but
grateful for his knowledge of their behavior.
He explained that this range was full of cats;
it was quite possible the track I found was a
lion but not to worry as human feline interactions
were quite rare. We exchanged a couple of
pleasantries then each headed out to our next
locations.

The river itself, at least the spot I had chosen,
was roughly a half-mile walk across open sage and
then tall grass. This suited me fine as leaving
the road out of ear shot while fishing only adds
to my desired experience. As I hiked the open
trail I thought of how it would be to fish for
trout in a downtown setting. How long it would
take the local PETA crowd to become vocal and
active toward such a scene. No, trout fishing
below the glare of neon signs would not be for
me. At the river I paused to survey the water,
it was gin clear and narrow. The sun was high
and bright and there was little cover. If the
fishing was going to be good then it would have
to be stealthy and quiet. I unsuccessfully cast
to a few small holes while working my way upstream
then to my great surprise, as I had not seen
another vehicle in the parking area, came across
a couple and their dog quietly enjoying the river.
Not wanting to disturb them and also not wanting
to engage in a conversation at this time and as
yet no fish. So I left the water and walked
downstream. This turned out to be a fortunate
decision, my style of fishing and move upstream
on unfamiliar waters would have taken me away
from what turned out to be a fantastically
productive pool.

Farther downstream, beyond the point I had
first met the river, was a very large fallen
Ponderosa, it and the hole created from where
its roots once resided formed water that
screamed of big fish opportunity. Passing
behind the tree and crossing the river below
I note farther downstream another angler
pitching his game to the river gods in hope
of a successful return.

As noted earlier I was quite confident with
the flies in my box. Being primarily a tail
water fisherman I have fine-tuned these to a
very small selection and rarely venture away
from them. This to many would probably be
undesirable, as time spent at the tying bench
becomes uneventful and without diversity. For
me this works fine. I tie my own flies because
I enjoy the mechanics of doing so and get a
kick out of catching fish with simple easy
patterns. You don't get simpler than the ones
I tie!

Easing quietly into the bottom of the pool
I start striping line and short casting to
the right edge. Once I have enough line out
to cover its full length I place a cast
directly upstream and keep the line straight
as possible as my indicator drifts directly
back toward me. Not a particularly stealthy
style of fishing, but as this pool was the
deepest by far that I had come across, I was
more interested in getting a good, deep drift.
Inches before I was about to lift my line and
cast once again the indicator pause/twitches
and I set the hook. For a split second I get
a good solid run to the head of the pool,
left turn and he's off. First interaction
with a fish for the day and I'm smiling.

With the tension of a no fish day passed,
confident I will now catch, I relax and
proceed to fish in the same manner. A couple
of casts later and I set the hook on a
fish that feels like a monster, only to
realize, without evidence of actually
seeing the fish that he's tail hooked.
Sure enough he is, I land him remove the
hook and take a brief look at the fish.
He's a healthy looking 16" rainbow with
great color. A few casts after his release
I fair hook a fat 11" hen. That feeling of
a good days fishing ahead is creeping up
on me fast. As the afternoon drifts by I
steadily catch and release my way to seven
fish with a few hooked and lost along the
way for good measure.

Having taken a brief break to straighten out
a wind knot, complete re-tie from my split
shot down I make a couple more casts up the
pool and do the same thing all over again!
This is not uncommon for me when the wind
picks up slightly. I have a self-taught lazy
style of cast that often gets me into such
trouble when conditions are not favorable.
So I tie it all up, again! This time I try
to concentrate on opening up my cast to help
with wind and successfully line out a couple
of good drifts. Smack! I get a good, very solid
take. This guy heads straight for the shallow
riffles below the pool and before he can reach
the fast channel below I lug him as fast as I
can to the slower side water before he is gone
forever. He's big, ugly and beat to hell with
various scars along his flank and a healed gash
down his belly, he looks like he's been through
a couple of wars. At 19" it's my biggest fish
of the day and I'm pleased to see him swim
away strongly.

The angler I had spotted earlier wanders down
the opposite bank; funny I didn't see him pass
me? He's holding up his hand silently counting
off with his fingers to me, 3, 4, 5...? I wander
over and we start a brief conversation. He had
apparently watched me catch three fish and was
curious as to what fly I was using. Feeling a
little stupid, as usual when asked this question
I'm glad we are side by side as I can show him
the fly as opposed to shouting across the river
"It's a beadhead wormy looking thing." I'm sure
all of the flies I tie and make up as I do so
already have names, being tied by others before
me. But I really don't keep track of that stuff
too much, I just fish what works for me. He say's
he hasn't had a fish all day just a brief hookup
in the run below my productive hole. I'm to the
point of satisfaction so ask if he would like
to try this pool. I leave him in peace tying
on a couple of my beadyworms and head to a run
farther up.

Feeling all good about myself having given up
a prime spot to a fellow flyfisher I start
lazily casting upriver while occasionally
glancing over my shoulder to see his first
hookup. Catching me completely off guard I
get a solid take on my fly. In an instant my
rod is bent way over, but I have far too much
line out and the fish heads directly downstream.
I hooked him in strong current and he has a
good head start on me, all I see is a flash
of silver as he passes going hell for leather
straight toward cover. It's all over in a matter
of seconds I get a brief chance of resistance
as he's below me but a second later I'm waving
goodbye to him with a two handed "get outa' here"
gesture. Crap! Venturing farther upstream I
unsuccessfully try a couple more pools and
decide to call it a day.

Before leaving I wander back down to say goodbye
to the friendly Environmental Engineer from LA.
He's caught 4 fish and we both agree it's been
a great day. On my way out I hit the road about
500 yards below my car and wander along its side
kicking the huge Ponderosa pine cones as I do.
Back at the car I wave goodbye to the DFG warden
one last time as he drives by and head out myself
back to Reno. As I drive the canyon down and catch
sight of the main Truckee with its high murky
water I realize that I'm glad it is. It's still
there, and I will come back another time when
conditions are more preferable. That is, if I
don't head straight to the Little instead. ~ Michael Mead